


Hell's Heresies

by PhoenixTalon, TheStraggletag



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her jerk of a boyfriend leaves for eight weeks, Emma Swan notices something funny going on. Strange messages in blood, weird noises, windows opening and shutting-it's almost as though she's being haunted. But Emma has no idea just how complicated her life will get when a demon named Baelfire takes a shine to her. Swanfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This house is a dump.”

Emma glared at Killian frostily as she painstakingly ripped the yellowed wallpaper from the walls. 

“I’m serious, Emma,” He rolled her eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “A fully furnished apartment would have saved you a lot more work.” 

Ah, this argument again. Wonderful. Emma took a deep breath, preparing for battle. 

“Did you ever stop to consider that I wanted the work?” Emma demanded, wiping her sweaty brow. “That maybe I wanted to create a home for us? That maybe I wanted us to create a home for us? But of course, as usual, I get stuck with the home repairs while you go gallivanting off—” 

“I have to work, Emma, just like you,” Killian snapped. “You didn’t have a problem with it a year ago.” 

“A year ago you told me you would quit being an itinerant merchant sailor when we moved in together.” 

“Things change,” Killian snapped. 

“Clearly,” Emma retorted. “We’ve been here barely a month—could you maybe give me a hand fixing the place up before throwing in the towel?”

Killian glowered at her before walking away. Rolling her eyes, Emma set back to work, feeling a perverse pleasure as she ripped down the wallpaper. After the horrid wallpaper was gone, all it really needed was a fresh coat of paint. Maybe turquoise with a cream trim—or bright yellow, that might be fun. Something fresh and modern. 

Her boyfriend returned, holding out his phone. Quirking her brow, she took Killian’s phone and scrolled through it. He’d Googled the address—and apparently came upon some ridiculous websites. 

“Ever wonder why we got the house so cheap?” Killian asked ominously. 

“Oh, give me a break, Killian,” Emma rolled her eyes. “Ghost stories? Really?” 

“Apparently all manner of occult practice and ritual went on here,” Killian read aloud. “Spiritualist clubs came from all over the world to conjure and perform the darkest spells…” 

“Read a book, Killian,” Emma snapped. “This entire town is built on ghost stories. It’s part of their tourist trade. It’s a load of shit. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” 

Killian crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m telling you, there’s something weird about this place.” 

“The only weird thing about this place is the jerk-ass boyfriend who refuses to help me make it livable!” Emma shouted, standing up. “What is your problem? This ghost shit is just one of your bullshit excuses to cover up the fact that you don’t want to commit to anything!” 

Killian glowered at her menacingly. He looked like he was about to say something truly nasty, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned around and stomped out the door. 

Fine. Emma sat down again with a huff, glaring at the yellowed wallpaper. Killian could go stalk off to the nearest bar if he wanted. But Emma never turned down a challenge and never let a project get the best of her. This house would become her home, whether Killian liked it or not. 

It had taken them months to decide on a place. Was it always going to be like this? She’d been dating Killian for five years, since her senior year of college. It seemed like they were always fighting or always on the cusp of it. It had been so passionate in the beginning, so fun…Killian had taken her to all manner of clubs and bars. He seemed to be in cahoots with every bouncer in the city. They danced, they drank, they played pool…she remembered staying out till 3AM, laughing herself silly with Killian. 

But then again, that would inevitably lead to a wicked hangover and an angry lecture from her boss for coming in late. Maybe that was just it. Maybe she’d grown up and Killian hadn’t. Emma was expending all this effort into moving onto the next step in her relationship without considering the fact that maybe her boyfriend wasn’t growing up with her… 

She stood up abruptly, suddenly craving a beer herself. She walked out of the hallway into their half-finished kitchen, retrieving a Guinness from the fridge. She cracked it open on the counter and took a long swig, relishing the way it calmed her nerves. Slowly, she walked back into the hallway, taking another drink, her eyes drifting towards her partially finished work.  
Emma choked. She coughed hard, spraying beer everywhere, gasping for breath. Shivering, she looked at the hallway wall. Red markings were on the wall, markings that most certainly had not been there before. They clearly spelled out: 

EMMA 

Her brows knitted together. “Very funny, Killian,” She shouted towards the front door, fully aware Killian was long gone. “Nice try. But your dumb prank isn’t going to make me move!” 

Yelling calmed her. Yes, it was obviously a prank. A nasty, manipulative trick on Killian’s part to try and coerce her to leave. She wondered where he’d gotten the paint. It did look disconcertingly like blood. But never mind that. She had work to do. 

XXXX 

Emma slept soundly that night, the deep and easy sleep of a woman whose manual labor fulfilled and excited her. She slept so deeply, that it wasn’t until 9AM when she heard a loud banging on the front door. Drowsily, she pulled on an old T-shirt and opened the door, blearily staring at the figure of her fuming boyfriend. 

“You locked me out,” Killian accused. 

“No, I didn’t,” Emma yawned. “Why didn’t you come in the back door? I left it unlocked for you.” 

“You didn’t!” Killian snarled, pushing past her. “I had to get a hotel. All the windows were locked too.” 

“No they weren’t,” Emma argued. “I left the living room window open—the AC still isn’t working, so…” 

She trailed off and smiled triumphantly. Sure enough, the living room window was open, a breeze gently wafting through. 

Killian barely gave it a passing glance. “You opened it this morning.” 

“I did not!” Emma insisted. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“Because I had to spend $160.00 at the Comfort Inn because my girlfriend locked me out!” Killian shouted. “Excuse me for being a little testy about it.” 

“You’re excused,” Emma snapped, retreating from the living room. She punched the coffeemaker on, her bad mood suddenly getting worse. 

“Oh, and by the way,” She shouted into the living room. “The next time you graffiti the hallway walls, I’m breaking your arms.” 

Killian didn’t respond. She heard him shuffling around, probably dragging his suitcase out and packing. He was supposed to leave for his next shipment this evening. She’d half-hoped he’d gotten over himself by this point and would attempt to make their last evening pleasant. She wouldn’t see him again for eight weeks. 

The coffee was finished. Emma poured herself a cup and took a meditative sip. Suddenly feeling a little remorseful, she poured another mug and brought it into the living room. Sure enough, Killian was shoving his clothes into his suitcase. She wordlessly offered him the mug. 

“No thanks,” Killian spat. “You always make it too strong.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. “And so much for the peace offering.” 

He was clearly in a nasty mood and didn’t seem to be inclined to make up. Nevertheless, Emma tried. 

“Killian, please,” Emma set the mug down. “I’m not going to see you for eight weeks. Can’t we—can’t we just have a timeout today? I can put aside the home repairs and help you pack.  
Then we could get some lunch, maybe catch a movie…please Killian?” 

He slammed his suitcase shut. Glaring at her, he bit out, “See you in eight weeks.” 

And with that, Killian snatched his suitcase and marched out of the house. 

XXXX 

Emma wasn’t much of a crier. It wasn’t in her nature. When she was upset, she was more liable to blast rock music and break a toaster, so that is precisely what she did. She thought it might make her feel better to take it apart and put it back together again, but after smashing it repeatedly, it became apparent that the toaster was a lost cause. 

“Much like my relationship,” Emma remarked bitterly, dropping the toaster with a mighty crash. She kicked it across the kitchen and swung around towards the hallway, considering crashing on her bed until her bad mood dissipated. 

She froze. There was new writing on the wall. 

HE’S A JERK, EMMA. DUMP HIM. 

She continued to stare. It was colored in the same red bloodish color, faintly glistening. It was recent. There was someone in the house with her. 

It must be Killian. It couldn’t be Killian. It was late evening; Killian would have boarded his ship by now. Considering how he seemed to prefer his stupid sailing job to her presence, she  
doubted he’d abandon it simply to mess with her. 

She shivered. Someone else? But she didn’t know anyone in this town. They were relative newcomers; she barely knew where the 7/11 was. Surely no one had decided to hate her that fast. 

Unless… 

Her mind flashed to Killian’s phone, his absurd claim that the house was haunted. That was even more ridiculous than a stalker who’d broken in. Emma slowly walked towards her bedroom, retrieving her 9mm. from the small safe beneath her bed. She stuffed it in the back of her jeans, feeling slightly more at ease. She then patrolled the house, looking for signs of…anything. 

Nothing. All the doors were locked. All the windows were snapped shut. No signs of forced entry. 

Emma exhaled deeply. Maybe it was her…she’d had a few beers. Maybe she’d gotten angry and defaced her own wall, as a type of reminder to her future sober self. But she wasn’t even drunk. Just a little buzzed. Anger (and fear for that matter) was rather sobering. 

“What is going on,” She muttered, retreating to the living room. She dug her Glock out of the waistband of her jeans, setting it gingerly on the end table next to the couch. She glanced around at the dancing shadows in the room. 

“I’m going to bed now,” Emma announced. She waited a tense moment, almost terrified of a response. 

Nothing. 

Feeling relieved but still disconcerted, she turned over on the couch. Sleep came easily to her, but she didn’t remember her dreams. 

XXXX 

When Emma awoke, there was a blanket over her. She wouldn’t rule out a creepy stalker, so she checked the entrances and windows once again, even venturing outside to look for footprints or signs of someone creeping. There was still nothing. Her house was on the end of a road, the nearest building was the library two blocks away. There was a small patch of woods with a shaded path gilded with wildflowers, which morbidly led to the local cemetery. Her neighbors were spaced out, nearly all of them elderly. 

Emma couldn’t figure it out. The only conclusion she could come to was that she should stop drinking. So the next day, she emptied her beer bottles and cleaned the writing off the wall, feeling sure she had solved the mystery. 

Her theory proved inconclusive. The next morning, there was new writing on the wall. 

TAKE AN UMBRELLA TO WORK, LOOKS LIKE RAIN. 

The following Saturday, the message read: 

DRINK HOT TEA, YOU’RE CATCHING A COLD. 

And on Monday: 

THERE’S NO MILK IN THE FRIDGE. 

Friday: 

DO NOT SKIP BREAKFAST. 

Aside from the helpful advice, Emma couldn’t figure it out. She even set up a camera, to see if she was sleepwalking—and she’d only discovered that she snored. If it wasn’t her, if it wasn’t  
Killian, if she’d ruled out any other outside parties…what did that leave? 

A ghost? An incredibly friendly ghost? 

Somehow, a ghost dispensing advice on her half-finished walls was more disconcerting than if they’d done the usual haunting. Bring on the moaning and dragging of chains, at least that was familiar. 

After three weeks, Emma decided she’d had enough. It was time to confront the problem…or at least try to. How do you converse with a ghost? A Google search did not prove fruitful. Emma was a practical girl, she didn’t know any spiritualists or mediums or psychics—and if she did, she’d steer clear of them. Besides, she had the funny feeling the presence, whatever it was, wouldn’t take kindly to an outside party. She didn’t know if it was evil or good, therefore did not want to run the risk of angering it. 

So she went out and purchased a Ouija board. She didn’t seem to have any other options. Despite the box which promised surefire scares, she thought the game looked rather silly. But at least she had a possible way of communication.

Emma waited till nightfall to give the game a try. Setting it on the dining room table (the only finished room in the house), Emma took a seat and cleared her throat. 

“All right then,” She announced. “Seeing as I’m trying to paint my walls a non-gory color—can you communicate with me this way?” 

She rested her fingertips gently on the pointer. Nothing happened. 

Idiot. Emma shook her head angrily. Why had she even tried? This was a board game! What kind of idiot bought into this nonsense? 

She cleared her throat again. “Look—my name is Emma Swan. I want to make this house my home. Are you trying to scare me enough to move out?” 

This time, the pointer quivered. Emma’s heart leapt in her throat when it suddenly flew out from under her fingertips, landing firmly on the word NO. 

A shiver went down her spine. Her breathing grew shallower and she tentatively drew the pointer back to her. 

“Are you—are you trying to hurt me?” She swallowed, suddenly afraid of the answer. 

The pointer moved again. NO.

Emma let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. Are you…a ghost of someone who died here?” 

NO. 

“A ghost from somewhere else? I heard this house was buried over part of the cemetery…” 

NO. 

Emma’s brow furrowed. 

“Are you a ghost at all?” 

NO. 

Her heart began to hammer. If not a ghost… 

“Then you’re something else, right?” She swallowed. “Some kind of entity…” 

YES. 

“So then…” Emma shivered again. “What—what are you?” 

A book fell off the bookshelf behind her, causing her to jump. She tried to laugh at her jumpiness, standing up to put the book back. She stopped short when she realized what the title was. 

“The Screwtape Letters” by C.S. Lewis. 

She glanced back at the Ouija board on the table, then at the book in her hand. Slowly, she sat down and placed her trembling fingertips on the pointer. 

“Are you a demon?” 

YES. 

A little cry came from her mouth. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t muster it up. A thousand horror films flew through her mind…Linda Blair vomiting pea soup, Katie Featherston smiling wickedly at her boyfriend’s camera, Barbara Hershey screaming… 

I should move. I should get the hell out of here. I should leave this town in my dust… 

Suddenly, the image of Killian’s smirking face entered her mind. “See? What did I tell you? You know, if you listened to me more, Emma…if you started doing what I say…”  
Emma shuddered. Somehow facing down a demon was a lot more preferable than her smug boyfriend. 

“Okay,” Emma took another deep breath. “So you’re a demon. But…you’re not going to hurt me?” 

NO. 

“You’re not going to possess me, are you?” 

This time, the pointer spelled out something. Emma carefully scribbled out the message on an old receipt. 

NOT WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION. 

Emma blinked. “That’s weird.” 

The pointer flew to YES. 

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to drag me to Hell?” 

NO. HELL IS LAME. 

“Do you want me to sell my soul to Satan?” 

NO. SATAN’S A DICK. 

At that, Emma had to laugh. Then inspiration struck. 

“Maybe I’m not the target,” She said grimly. “If you’re not after me, are you after Killian?” 

The pointer hesitated. NOT IF YOU DONT WANT ME TO. 

The message was so stilted, so reluctant, it made Emma laugh again. She pinched the skin between her brows, trying to make sense of it all. 

“All right,” She sighed. “If you’re not after me or my boyfriend…what is it you want?” 

There was no response from the Ouija board. Emma’s lips twisted. Perhaps the demon was tired of talking. 

“All right, let’s try something different,” She hummed a little. “What should I call you? Mephistopholes? Beelzebub?” 

MY NAME IS BAELFIRE. 

“Baelfire,” Emma breathed. When she said his name, the lights flickered. Another tingle went down her spine—but somehow, it was different. She wasn’t afraid. Not in the least bit. 

“This is crazy,” Emma said, half to herself. “This is crazy. But…I mean, it’s not like I’m making this all up. Baelfire…Baelfire, have you been in the house this whole time?” 

YES. INCORPOREAL. 

“I don’t know anything about demons,” Emma confessed. “I’m agnostic. Although now I don’t know what I am. So…what kind of demon are you, anyway?” 

LAZY. 

This demon had the weirdest sense of humor, but damned if Emma wasn’t slightly charmed. 

“Come on,” Emma prompted. “What kind?” 

HALF. PART INCUBUS. PART BELIEL. 

“Incubus, huh,” Emma snorted. “So what’s that mean? You trying to seduce me?” 

The pointer hesitated again, circling awkwardly. IF I WERE TRYING TO SEDUCE YOU…YOU WOULD KNOW. 

“Oh yeah?” Emma challenged. 

At that precise moment, Emma’s radio turned on. “Only You” by Yazoo. 

She leaned back in her chair. “Seriously? That’s the song you’re going with?” 

AWESOME SONG. 

“Whatever, dude,” Emma stretched. “So it was you, right? The weird messages and things?” 

YES. 

“I just…I still don’t understand why,” Emma scratched her head. “You haven’t answered me. You haven’t told me what you want.” 

The pointer quivered. Finally, it spelled out one word: 

THIS. 

“This?” Emma threw up her hands. “What’s ‘this’? To talk to me?” 

YES. 

“But—why?!” Emma demanded, feeling frustrated. 

The music stopped abruptly. The pointer stopped moving. Emma stared at the board, flicking the pointer with her finger. Nothing moved. Baelfire had exited the conversation. Frustrated,  
Emma kicked her chair away and stomped out of the room. 

XXXX 

The next day, Emma approached the front desk of the library, where a petite brunette was busily typing something into her computer. 

“Hi,” Emma greeted her awkwardly. “Do you have any books on how to summon demons?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straggle cowrote the scene between Belle and Emma.

“May I ask why?”

To Emma’s surprise, the librarian’s query was not in the least bit judgmental or mocking. She asked in a sort of clarifying manner, as though she truly wanted to find the most relevant information for Emma’s research.

Luckily, Emma had a surefire excuse. “I’m a reporter for the Milton Moments. I’m doing a little research on the town’s history and folklore—seems like there were quite a few places around here that had a fascination with the occult. I wanted to look up some of the tomes they used to contact spirits and things.” 

The brunette arched an eyebrow, looking decidedly sceptic. Emma kept her poker-face on, confident in her ability to bullshit her way in and out of any situation.

"The Moments is a small newspaper, and this is a small town. I would've known about a new journalist, that sort of thing makes it to at least the second page in a place like this."

She typed a few more words into the computer, smiled politely at the blonde, and grabbed the book cart, shelving a book here and there as she made her way around the stacks.

Well, plan A was definitely a bust.

“Okay, hang on,” Emma followed her, smiling a little manically. “Uh…look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a nutcase, but I think my house is…haunted. By something. Something not a ghost. It says it’s not a ghost. And I need to figure out how to make it go away.”

The librarian’s eyes narrowed skeptically.

“I’m serious,” Emma insisted. “Since my boyfriend’s left, it’s gotten way more active. It leaves messages, turns lights on and off, does all sorts of creepy shit. Well, admittedly helpful shit, but creepy nonetheless. And every time I Google ‘how to get rid of demons’ it takes me to weird religious sites or to Hot Topic merchandise.” 

"Sadly the library has little in the way of an occult section. And currently all relevant books on the subject have been checked out."

To her credit the librarian didn't look like she was lying, and Emma could always tell. She didn't look at her like she thought she was a nut job either, which was a huge relief. And also a bit suspicious.

"What, you're not gonna look at the catalogue? For a small town this is a pretty big library, I'm having a hard time picturing any librarian knowing every single book in here, and keeping track of which ones have been checked out and which haven't."

From above them, where Emma knew the librarian's apartment was located, came a groaning sort of sound, followed by an ominous thump. The librarian looked up and then back down, clearly trying to pretend she hadn't heard anything.

"Got a big cat?"

In her mind Emma was already putting the pieces together, but she thread carefully all the same, lest her suspicions be incorrect.

"No. This is an old building, I was told it makes all sorts of sounds. They weren't kidding about that."

She didn't look worried per se, but it was also clear she wasn't buying the explanation that the moan had been a product of an ageing infrastructure.

"Yeah, my house makes those sorts of sounds too. But they don't come from the same source as yours, apparently."

The blonde studied the brunette's face attentively and was able to read her quite clearly this time.

"You checked out those books, didn't you?"

She knitted her brows together and opened her mouth to protest. Emma raised an arm.

“Look,” Emma said urgently, lowering her voice. “It’s okay. There’s something going on, I know you know there is. I have a demon in my house that reminded me to wear a scarf when I went outside.”

“That’s…helpful…” The brunette blinked. 

“If you think that’s weird, we had actually had a conversation via Ouija board last night,” Emma replied grimly. “I actually think he was trying to hit on me.”

“He?” 

Oddly, the librarian’s tone was questioning. Eager. Emma nodded briskly. 

“Yeah,” She exhaled slowly. “His name’s Baelfire.”

Somewhere near the circulation desk there came a sound of glass breaking. They rushed to see what had happened, finding an antique vase in pieces on the floor, water dripping from the broken shards and flowers scattered around, the stems oozing a milky sap. Feeling strangely guilty Emma crouched down to clean up the mess, closely followed by the other woman.

"Don't get any sap on your fingers. This is oleander, highly poisonous. It makes up those great shrubs on the sides of the library."

"So, does your guy do this often or did I do something to piss him off?"

For a second the librarian looked like she was going to deny everything, but thought better of it and sighed instead.

"He's not this bad. He's nice, actually, most of the time. Does it make sense?"

Emma thought back to the half-incubus at home that had tried cheesy music to put the moves on her and nodded.

"Sounds kind of like my situation. On the one hand I'm creeped out because... demon, you know? On the other hand he's... kinda sweet. It's throwing me for a loop, that's for sure."

The other woman smiled, utterly relieved. Emma could commiserate. Though she barely knew the librarian it was certainly a relief to lay out her situation and have another person understand her completely. She was about to ask when it had all started for her when she felt a strange sort of pressure in her chest, a bit like something or someone was crowding her space, boxing her in.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Emma felt dizzy. Claustrophobic, as if something was slowly trying to smother her. Trying to deep breaths, she swallowed hard. 

“I need to get out of here,” She managed. “Something’s happening to me.”

“Come on,” The librarian took her arm and led her outside. Emma choked a little, feeling as though she was losing oxygen—but the librarian seemed perfectly fine. 

Once off the library premises, Emma breathed in the deep scent of pine. She shivered badly.

“What the hell was that?” She looked at the library warily.

“I don’t know,” The librarian appeared upset. “He’s never done that before. I don’t understand what came over him.”

Emma looked at the librarian, sensing a kindred spirit. “What’s your name?”

“Belle French.”

“You have your phone on you?”

Wordlessly, Belle handed it over. Emma rapidly punched in her phone number, adding herself to Belle’s contacts. 

“Give me a call sometime,” Emma said seriously. “Let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on.”

XXXX

When Emma returned home, she spent the rest of her day in relative silence, fixing the leak in the kitchen sink, painting the hallway, and tearing up carpet in the bedrooms. The carpet was hideous, she had no idea why the previous owners wanted to cover up the beautiful hardwood floors beneath. All it needed was a little varnish…

She considered her conversation with Belle French. Belle French appeared to be haunted as well—at least in the library. Was that just the quirk of Milton? The town had ghosts in every building? 

Emma recalled the strangling sensations she’d felt when she’d said the word Baelfire…she took a deep breath. Was there a connection between Baelfire and the library’s entity?  
She needed to do more research. Figure out why Baelfire was in her house. But he was strangely reticent to talk about his origins.

Nevertheless, she grabbed herself a beer, sat down at her dining room table, and drank a toast to Baelfire, keeping her eye on the pointer. 

HI EMMA.

“So, let me ask you this,” Emma tapped her fingers on the board. “Have you interacted with other people in this house?”

NOT REALLY.

“Why not?” She prompted.

UNINTERESTING.

“So, you find me interesting,” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

No response. Every time Emma pressed him about this, he seemed to shut down. She couldn’t tell if this was something to be wary about.

“You know, in those Paranormal Activity movies, the demon is after the baby,” Emma pointed out. “Are you after my hypothetical unborn child that you want to turn into the antichrist?”

TOO MUCH WORK. CHILDCARE IS A PAIN IN THE ASS.

She snorted into her beer. “Okay, fair enough…but you’re still being weirdly evasive about this whole thing. Shouldn’t you be scaring me? Trying to drive me out?”

I DON’T WANT TO SCARE YOU. 

The strange sincerity in the message confused her. Emma sighed and took another sip of beer. 

“So I’m curious…what do demons look like?”

The pointer circled, something Emma was beginning to recognize as a stalling technique. Finally, it spelled out:

ALL TYPES.

“Okay,” Emma smiled. “What do you look like?”

The pointer spun in agitation. And then:

GIANT CENTIPEDE.

Emma wrinkled. “Seriously?”

NO. JUST WANTED TO SEE YOUR REACTION.

She rolled her eyes, drumming her fingers on the board. “Oh, come on. You know what I look like. I want to know what you look like.”

INCORPOREAL.

“But you have to have some kind of form, right?”

NOT ON THIS PLANE.

“What plane then?”

HELL. NETHERWORLD. INBETWEEN. UPSIDE DOWN.

Emma wasn’t sure if he was distinguishing different places or saying various names of the same thing. 

“Is there…any way I could see you?” She asked tentatively. “Please?”

NO.

Emma sighed in frustration. “Great. I get the shy demon.” 

She took a sip of her beer musingly. The pointer quivered and she warily watched it scoot across the board.

NOT SEE…BUT YOU COULD HEAR ME.

“Hear you?” Emma questioned. “How?”

ENTER YOUR BODY.

Emma’s eyes widened. “You want to possess me?!”

NO. YES. SHORTLY. ENTER YOUR MIND. HEAR MY VOICE. 

She scrunched her face. “This sounds like a really bad start to a horror film.”

IT IS.

She sighed. “This also sounds like a dangerous and terrible idea.”

YES.

“Then why are you suggesting it?” Emma demanded.

BETTER THAN YOU SEEING ME. 

Her lips twisted. “But how do I know you won’t make me do anything? Or possess me completely?”

The pointer twirled in consideration. SCOUTS HONOR.

Emma snickered. “Funny.” 

WELL I CANT EXACTLY SWEAR ON THE BIBLE.

She laughed again. “Okay…I mean…five minutes. Just for five minutes.”

ARE YOU SURE.

Emma drained her beer. “Now you’re having reservations?”

POSSESSION IS INTIMATE.

She quirked a brow. “Intimate?”

INTIMATE.

“Well, I could use a little intimacy,” She said dryly, thinking about Killian’s coldness. “Five minutes, Baelfire. So what do I do?”

STAY STILL. EMPTY YOUR THOUGHTS. CLOSE YOUR EYES.

Emma complied. Her eyes shut and she took a deep breath, clearing her mind. She recalled a long ago yoga class where her instructor kept telling her to breathe and to stop trying to do advanced poses. She’d since learned that she was far too competitive for yoga.

She suddenly felt drowsy, her limbs falling heavier. She wasn’t quite asleep, she could still hear the sounds of her dishwasher and the AC running. But it almost seemed as though her senses were being deadened.

Something tingled her toes. A ticklish feeling spread through her legs, rising up her torso. Her heart pounded in hesitation. She almost felt as though something was prodding her, requesting her to open the door. She slowly nodded. 

“Baelfire?” Emma whispered. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

She gasped. She heard him! She heard his voice! It wasn’t at all what she expected. For understandable reasons, she couldn’t quite escape the feeling that her demon would sound scary and monstrous. But in fact, Baelfire had a smoky earthy voice. It reminded her of Bruce Springsteen or Bob Dylan’s voice. Relaxed and mellow. 

“Wow,” Emma breathed. “I hear you.”

“It’s nice to talk to you without using that stupid board game.”

She giggled. “Hey, don’t knock the Ouija board. It’s been pretty useful. I’ve named it Harriet.”

“Your Ouija board is named Harriet, your fridge is named Midge, your toaster is named Stanley. Why do you name inanimate objects?”

“To be fair, with you around, they’re hardly inanimate,” Emma pointed out. “And secondly—no one hears me name my appliances. Or no one’s supposed to, anyway.” 

“Sorry. It’s not like I can help it.”

“Hm,” Emma said doubtfully. “Well—I’m still not clear on why you’re…you’re interacting with me.”

She waited for a response but didn’t hear anything.

“Baelfire?” Emma called. “I can still feel you inside me…it feels really good. Talk to me.” She flushed, suddenly realizing how filthy that sounded. She then heard a smoky chuckle, and realized with horror that Baelfire felt her embarrassment. 

“Okay, I think you’re five minutes are up,” She ordered. “Out you go!”

“You’re the boss. It felt good to be inside you too.”

“Out!”

The warmth dissipated and Emma was left alone at her dining room table, feeling exhausted and slightly crestfallen. She exhaled slowly, standing up.

“Going to bed,” She said softly to her Ouija board. “Good night, Baelfire.”

GOOD NIGHT. HARRIET SAYS GOOD NIGHT TOO.

Emma laughed, wrapping her arms around herself. Oh no…was she growing fond of him? Cheered by his presence? She wanted to believe that all of this was in her head, that she was becoming more invested in this nonsense because she was lonely and missed Killian. But she hadn’t really thought of her boyfriend in weeks. And Killian had never been…never been so playful with her, so amused at her quirks, so delighted at her oddities…

She shook herself. Get yourself together, Emma. She marched up the stairs to her bedroom, intending on falling asleep straightaway.


End file.
